


Reallocation

by zinke



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-08
Updated: 2008-10-08
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:06:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: What's to be done when circumstances change?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to survivalinstinct.net on October 4, 2008.
> 
> Ah, the story ideas that come to a fic writer at one o’clock in the morning. I can’t quite explain why this little idea resonated with me so strongly, though I think it might have something to with how much time I’ve been spending thinking about Laura Roslin and her evolution as a character throughout the series. What can I say? She fascinates me. Be advised that this story contains spoilers through the season 4 finale 'Relevations'.

“I have to agree with Delegate Cantrell on this issue,” Tom says, jabbing his index finger sharply at one of the many glossy reconnaissance photos lying scattered on the table before him. “In light of this information from the most recent survey of the planet’s surface, I think it’s not only reasonable but also prudent to revisit the question of resource allocation and distribution.”

“Allocation and distribution,” Laura echoes flatly from where she is sitting stiffly at the head of the table, her eyeglasses held loosely one hand and the bridge of her nose pinched between the fingers of the other. When she finally looks up a beat later and slips her ebony frames back into place, her expression is a study in barely restrained impatience. “Mister Vice-President, why don’t you simply say what it is you actually mean, and save us all a great deal of time and the trouble?”

The only indication of Zarek’s annoyance is a slight tightening of the muscles in his jaw. Pointedly, he makes eye contact with each delegate in turn – everyone except Laura – before speaking again. “Each one of us sitting at this table has sworn an oath to uphold the Articles of Colonization and to act on behalf of and in the best interests of our people. Our people. No one else. And certainly not the very machines that, not so very long ago, had been intent on the complete and total annihilation of our civilization. We need to uphold the duty our citizens have tasked us with and take whatever action is necessary to ensure our survival, even if it must come at the expense of those who are, shall we say less than deserving.”

Almost immediately, an anxious murmur makes its way around the long expanse of the table as the delegates begin to talk amongst themselves, the incongruous sound a far cry from the usual cacophony of debate and indicative of just how seriously the matter is being considered. 

With obvious effort, Laura pulls herself out of her chair and, as quickly as it had begun, the noise in the room dies away. Bracing her palms against the tabletop, she takes a deep breath before beginning to speak, her words purposeful and precise. “Who lives and who dies – that’s really what we’re talking about isn’t it? Here we are, at Earth, and there isn’t going to be enough – of anything it seems – to go around. But does that give us the right to decide who is and who is not deserving of the simple right to survive?”

“The Cylons—” Delegate Lange begins, but Laura cuts the other woman off with a sharp wave of her hand.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked to consider such a question, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. But the very fact that you are alive and still with us, Mister Vice-President, as opposed to what the Captain of the Astral Queen suggested we do with you and your fellow shipmates shortly after the initial attacks, should be evidence enough of my opinion on this matter. It was the right decision then, and it’s the right one now.” Laura sinks back into her seat and folds her hands on the table before her. “I will not allow this government to make decisions or take actions that are better left to the gods.”

“Forgive me,” Zarek interjects, his polite words little more than a half-hearted attempt to conceal the bitterness in his voice. “But that’s not what you would have said – what you did say a few months ago when you authorized the military’s use of a biological weapon against the Cylons.”

Laura hangs her head slightly and breathes a heavy sigh before responding steadily, “No, it isn’t.”

Before Zarek has the chance to press the advantage that’s been offered to him Lee, who has been watching Laura carefully throughout the exchange, stands. “Then if I may ask, Madame President,” he questions carefully, refusing to falter when her eyes, alight with suspicion and defiance, unerringly meet his, “what’s changed?”

Laura stares silently at the younger man for several moments, until finally her expression softens imperceptibly, and she looks away. Her gaze comes to rest on the empty seat beside her where Tory should be sitting and the porthole just beyond, through which only a marbled sliver of the planet below is visible, the Cylon baseship and other ships of the Fleet hovering above it like so many moths drawn to a flame.

Absently she runs the pad of her thumb against the gold band circling her finger, an action that goes unnoticed by everyone except the man whose expectant gaze she now returns steadily. “Everything, Mr. Adama,” Laura replies levelly as the ghost of a wry, lopsided smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Everything.”

 

*fin.*


End file.
